When our daughter wanted to buy a puppy, we tried to talk her into waiting until she was on her own. We warned her: All dogs become mine.
I don’t try to steal them. Maybe my tummy rubs are the best. Perhaps I’m the one most often scooping out the dog food. Or I’m taller. Might be an alpha thing. (Taiga, the husky, is different — she’s not mine; I’m her favorite subject.)
Cass couldn’t wait, and along came li’l la Luna Rae. Somehow that daughter-of-mine pulled it off. Even though she worked nights and took classes by day, she managed to keep Luna close enough to know who her mommy was. Now that Cass is off at the University, she and Luna are inseparable.
Oh, Luna is happy to see me, no doubt. (My tummy rubs are the best.)
But each time Cass returned from school or work, we braced for it. Ten or more solid minutes of Luna — up in our daughter’s arms, no matter how big Luna got — wailing/howling/barking as if her momma had returned from the dead.
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